


On The Blue Line

by bluest_skies



Series: Destiel Smut Brigade "Missed Connections" Fic Dump [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, One sided blind dates, Personal Ads, Prompt: Subway, Public Groping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-20 06:51:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3640812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluest_skies/pseuds/bluest_skies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I see you on the Blue Line a lot. Always early in the morning. Usually you’re wearing a suit and carrying a leather satchel. Maybe you’re a teacher. Or an accountant. You’re unbelievably gorgeous though, with dark hair and blue eyes. I’d like to get to know you. Reply with what kind of coat you wear."</p>
<p>Castiel is incredulous - that's not about him, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	On The Blue Line

**Author's Note:**

> I switched tenses to give myself a bit of a challenge and a challenge it was. This has been un-beta'd so any screw ups are mine. I hope everyone enjoys. I'm a bit anxious over this one.

“You need to see this.”

Castiel flinches away from the paper that flutters in front of his face. “Okaaay,” he says, snatching it up while slipping on his reading glasses.

_“I see you on the Blue Line a lot. Always early in the morning. Usually you’re wearing a suit and carrying a leather satchel. Maybe you’re a teacher. Or an accountant. You’re unbelievably gorgeous though, with dark hair and blue eyes. I’d like to get to know you. Reply with what kind of coat you wear.”_

Castiel looks up. “Hannah, is this a joke or something?”

“Nope. I found it on Craigslist.” Hannah perches on the end of the chair across from Castiel’s desk. Castiel can only describe the look on her face as ‘extremely delighted’.

He frowns. “What were you doing on Craigslist? And in the...” he glances down. “Men for men section? And what does this have to do with me?”

Hannah tsks at him. “That’s the train you ride. You carry a leather satchel and wear a suit. Dark hair. Blue eyes. Gorgeous. How is that not you?”

“That probably describes a fair number of people in this city.”

Hannah shrugs. “Maybe with some of those attributes, sure. But all of them? Castiel, that’s you. You should answer back.”

“Well that’s not going to happen.”

“Why not?”

Castiel crumples the paper in his fist. “What if he’s a serial killer and his victim of choice is dark-haired, blue-eyed men in suits?”

“You’re crazy,” she scoffs, waving a hand at him.

“You want me to meet with some random stranger based on a vague description on Craigslist and _I’m_ crazy?”

“Yes.”

Castiel sighs. “Get out of my office. Wait. Did you find out anything about the Bradbury piece for the gallery show?”

Hannah pauses in the doorway of his office and turns back, face grave. “Yes. She said emphatically to go fuck yourself.”

“Hannah!” he yells as she walks out. “You better be kidding!”

~*~

Castiel spends the next week watching the other people on the train closely, wondering which one of them could have written that ad. Not that he’s entirely convinced it’s about him. But he wonders anyway.

One he completely dismisses, the man short and obnoxiously loud. He can’t recall ever seeing him before and is sure he’d remember. There’s a couple, however, that he wouldn’t be unhappy if it were one of them.

One is much taller than Castiel, big and broad shouldered with a heavy southern accent. Castiel usually sees him on the afternoon commute, hands and face streaked with dirt and grease and he wonders: mechanic or construction worker? He’s good looking though, and seems to be fairly friendly.

The other is only slightly taller, his short hair usually hid under a grey beanie, and a face so beautiful that Castiel would probably venture into Hell for. He’s fit, but not overly muscular, even though he’s always carrying a large duffel bag on his shoulder. Castiel wonders about him throughout the week and has been catching himself staring at the other man when he isn’t looking. Most mornings he will gaze out of the window into the darkness of the tunnel, ear buds in place, head slightly moving along to the music. But sometimes he’s more open, saying good morning to random people as he boards the train, smile flashing easily. On Friday, he gives a friendly greeting to Castiel, who is so caught off guard that he mutters hello in reply and spends the rest of the commute staring down at his brown work shoes.

~*~

It’s Saturday morning when he receives a text message from Hannah to meet him at The Perk-O-Rama for coffee and a possible problem with the upcoming gallery show, and he feels strong in his grumpy attitude when he finally pushes his way into the coffee shop. He doesn’t even want the stupid coffee, just to get this bad news out of the way and fixed, if at all possible.

He’s in no way prepared for the sight of grey beanie guy from the train making his way down the sidewalk, turning to walk through the door and make his way towards Castiel’s table, while he sits there dumbstruck.

“Hey,” grey beanie guy says with a smile. “I gotta say I wasn’t sure you’d actually show.” He sits in the opposite chair, tugging the beanie off his head and vigorously scrubbing at his hair with his fingers.

“Uhhh....” Castiel says eloquently.

“Oh...You’re Castiel right?”

“Yes?”

The guy gives him a look he can’t decipher. “You don’t seem too sure,” he says, amusement lacing his words.

“What? No. I mean, yes I’m sure I’m just...obviously very confused.”

“Well it’s early.” The man starts to get up. “Maybe coffee would help?”

Castiel holds a hand up. “Wait a minute. I’m just...How did you--” He can actually feel the pieces click into place, which makes him feel both angry and monumentally stupid. “Can you excuse me for just a moment?”

“Sure, I’m gonna just--” he gestures towards the front counter. “You want something?”

“Black coffee,” he mutters while stabbing buttons on his phone with more force than is actually warranted as he walks away from the table.

_“I know. You’re mad,”_ Hannah says in lieu of hello.

“That’s an understatement. I can’t believe you did this,” he hisses into the phone. “I should fire you.”

_“You’re not going to fire me. Would you just please have coffee with the nice, good looking man, who is a dancer and choreographer by the way, and enjoy yourself?”_

Castiel turns to look back towards the table where the man is heading back to the table, each hand holding a cup. “Yeah,” he says absently, then clears his throat. “I’m still mad at you though.”

_“That’s fine. Be mad at me today. Thank me on Monday.”_

Castiel scoffs. “Wait, was there really bad news?”

_“Yes, horrifically so,”_ she says dramatically. _“Ms. Bradbury is submitting seven pieces for the show, including your favorite, and she’s delighted we asked her. Coffee. Go. Now.”_

“Fine,” he grouses to an empty phone, heading back to the table. “Sorry about that, just a...lack of communication.”

“Your co-worker didn’t tell you about this little set up, huh.”

“Not exactly.”

Dean nods and holds out his hand. “Well, I’m Dean. Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.” He chuckles.

Dean gives him a confused smile. “What?”

“It’s just nice to not have to refer to you as ‘grey beanie guy’ anymore.”

Dean’s laugh is as beautiful as everything else about him, Castiel thinks to himself.

  
~*~

He’s late and when he boards the train, it’s already quite full, but he sees Dean standing in the back of the car and makes his way towards him. They’ve gone on a few dinner dates, talked a lot on the phone, but they hadn’t gone past making out and Castiel discovered that he was quickly beginning to crave any touches that Dean was willing to offer. Wrapping a hand around the bar above him, his hand is so close to Dean’s that if he barely stretches his pinkie, he could slide it along one of Dean’s fingers. He barely refrains.

“Morning,” Dean says, lips quirking up. “You looked stressed already.”

Castiel huffs. “I’m just...running late. I hate that.”

Dean nods, tugging on his beanie. “Hey, I was gonna ask you--”

Castiel loses his balance briefly as the train moves swiftly through the tunnels and Dean’s hand presses against his chest to help steady him. Castiel watches Dean’s face as he first looks to his own hand pressed to Castiel’s chest, heart beating wildly beneath it, then to Castiel’s face, which he’s sure is quite red.

“Do I make you nervous?” Dean asks him quietly.

“No,” Castiel replies, but he doesn’t sound sure, even to his own ears, and he wonders if Dean can hear it too.

Dean makes a sound in the back of his throat and his hand quickly falls, fingers digging into the waistband of Castiel’s pants to pull him a bit closer.

“Dean, what--” he chokes out.

“Shh. No one can see because of your coat.”

Castiel’s breath leaves him in a rush at the first brush of fingers against the straining erection in his trousers. Dean leans closer to him. “I had a dream about this last night. Touching you. Hearing your breath catch. Feeling your heart beat faster.” His fingers run along either side, lightly stroking him through the fabric. His voice pitches lower and Castiel barely hears him say, “I bet you taste amazing.”

Castiel’s hand grips the bar above his head tighter, teeth digging into his bottom lip to contain the groan trying to escape him, almost to the point of not caring if anyone hears him or knows what they’re doing in the back of the train car. He briefly has a thought crash through his mind that this is not him, he doesn’t do these kinds of things, but then Dean’s fingers are moving, squeezing as they travel up and the thought crumbles away as he gasps quietly.

“I want you, Cas,” Dean tells him, and his heart flutters at the sound of his name shortened in such a way.

“Tell me again,” he pleads.

Dean presses his palm firmly against Castiel’s cock and his knees go weak at the sensation. “I want you, Cas,” he complies, growling lowly as _“Next Stop -- 48th Street”_ is called out. “Fuck,” he swears quietly. “This is my stop.”

“Yeah,” Castiel pants. “Yeah, okay.”

Dean presses his forehead against Castiel’s. “Sorry.”

Castiel shakes his head. “It’s okay.”

As the train lurches to a stop, Dean tells him, “Come to my studio tonight. I’ll text you the address.” He runs a finger along Castiel’s’ jawline. “We’ll continue this later. I promise.”

And then he’s gone and Castiel is left reeling.

~*~

Castiel arrives to the studio a bit earlier than planned and stands on the sidewalk, watching through the window as Dean works with a group of men and women, teaching them a routine. He feels an almost sense of awe watching him work, the graceful movements of his body as he demonstrates a step, hands precise as he repositions one of the other dancers. It conjures up entirely welcome images of Dean’s hands and body moving over his own and he wrenches the studio door open.

Dean glances over as Castiel steps through the door and smiles. “Hey guys, let’s call it an early night, okay? We’ll pick this up next week.”

Castiel leans against the wall, watching as people stuff clothes into backpacks and duffel bags, chatting to each other as they collect their shoes, which are lined up by the door, one by one and file out of the studio, until finally it’s only Dean and himself left.

“Just leave your shoes by the door,” Dean calls out to him as he grabs a pile of CDs, carefully sliding them back into their respective spaces on a shelf. Castiel slips off his dress shoes, lining them up along the wall and ditches his coat.

“This is a nice space,” Castiel tells him.

“Yeah, I was really lucky to get it when I did.” Dean pushes the last CD in place then turns, leaning back against the shelf. He gestures at Castiel with a finger. “C’mere.”

As soon as he’s close enough, Dean reaches out to grab the end of his tie, wrapping it around his fist as he pulls Castiel closer. His gasp of surprise when Dean surges forward to kiss him quickly dissolves into a low groan when he feels Dean’s tongue push pass his lips to slowly lick into his mouth. After a few moments, Dean pulls back with a gasp.

“I’ve been thinking about that all day.”

“Yeah, me too,” Castiel pants.

“Mmm.” Dean gives him a swift kiss and releases his tie. “Wait right here.”

Slightly dazed, Castiel watches Dean jog towards the front door, flipping the dead bolt and pulling down the shades over the door and front window.

“I have to say,” Castiel says as Dean makes his way back over, bare feet slapping on the floor. “This is a good look for you.” A grey tank top that shows off his muscular arms and black pants that are a little loose around the legs, but tighter in just the right places.

“Yeah?” Dean grins cheekily before grabbing the edges of his tank top, whipping it over his head and tossing it aside. “Is this a good look too?”

“Definitely,” Castiel breaths, head nodding vigorously.

Dean pulls Castiel along by the hand to the back and adjacent walls of the studio which are mirrored and out of the corner of his eye, Castiel can see them in profile.

“I believe we were interrupted this morning,” Dean tells him as he works at undoing Castiel’s belt, making quick work of it as well as the buttons and zipper of his pants.

When Dean lowers himself to his knees, Castiel turns his attention to the adjacent mirror and he watches as Dean drags down his pants and underwear, hands then sliding back up along his thighs, one of which then grips him around the base of his dick, almost completely hard now and jutting out from his body. Dean’s tongue slips out, flicking along the underside of the shaft, lightly swirling around the tip. When Dean’s mouth finally slids over him completely, Castiel lifts up on his tip toes, back pressed firmly against the mirror behind him. Dean grabs him at the hips, pulling back down flat on his feet, holding him in place as he works Castiel’s cock in and out of his mouth.

Castiel turns his head to watch him in the mirror, the sight of his shaft sliding past Dean’s lips until his face is pressed against Castiel’s pelvis, only to slowly reappear when Dean pulls back makes his cock twitch and Dean pulls off completely to lap at the precome pulsing from the tip.

Dean’s hands leave Castiel’s hips to pull at his pants, jerking them down to release his own erection, swollen and flushed, the head glistening.

“Dean,” Castiel croaks out, but Dean only replies with a muffled groan as he swallows Castiel back down, hand working along his own shaft quickly, wrist twisting, precome dripping onto the floor.

Castiel watches them both in the mirror, eyes roaming from Dean’s mouth, to his face, to his hand, then to his own face at one point. It almost looks like he’s seeing someone else with pupils are lust blown, big and dark, eclipsing the blue, mouth slightly parted from his harsh panting. It can’t be him standing there with furrowed brows and every nerve ending on fire. His hips jerk and Dean moans around him, Castiel unable to keep himself from echoing after.

Dean raises up on his knees, hand erratic in its movement as he comes in ropey spurts across the floor and Castiel’s feet. Castiel’s orgasm hits him hard and fast then, catching him off guard, and Dean surges forward, face pressed flush against Castiel’s pelvis, swallowing as Castiel comes deep in his throat.

As he slowly comes back to himself, he slides down until his bare butt hits the floor, and Dean scoots to move next to him.

“I knew you’d taste amazing,” Dean says, knocking his shoulder against Castiel’s.

Castiel rolls his head towards Dean, leaning over to press a light kiss to his lips. “You’re the amazing one.” He pauses a moment. “Those mirrors are amazing.”

Dean slumps over into Castiel’s lap, body shaking with laughter.

 

~*~To Be Continued~*~


End file.
